


Ease

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk Revolution To Me, Baby (Drabbles) [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, TALK REVOLUTION TO ME BABY, alcoholism and addiction ahoy be warned, combeferre/grantaire friendship, enjolras/eponine friendship - Freeform, friendship is really magical, my ever-frustrating darlings ugh i love them so but sometimes you just want to yell at them y'know?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is parasitic and angry and the man standing there looking like pure sin in a pair of jeans is being worn down to nothing because of him.</p><p>So when it slips out it really does slip out, because the last thing he wants to do is cause more damage, but he's furious and exhausted and more than a little drunk and if Enjolras can't get it in his head that this is fucking toxic, Grantaire will push him until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ease

It starts out like any other fight. Enjolras is actually standing on a table, speaking, gesturing, looking like a fucking god in a red button-up he's left open and an undone black tie hanging around his neck. His eyes are burning with the sort of righteous fury that Grantaire usually loves, but today it makes him sick.

 _Today he woke up in his lover's bed and thought_ what the fuck am I doing here? _and between the pounding headache of his hangover and the sudden hollow ache in his chest he knew that there was something wrong. And there Enjolras was, getting dressed as quietly as possible. He'd actually flinched when he realized Grantaire was awake and watching him._

_"You didn't sleep well," he said softly, by way of explanation, and when Grantaire sat up Enjolras just shook his head with a sad sort of smile. "Go back to sleep; you need it. You were sick all night."_

_Enjolras looked exhausted, but he knew that Eponine would attack him with concealer before he started speaking today so no one would see the shadows under his eyes, and the hollow in Grantaire's chest suddenly filled with guilt._

He is parasitic and angry and the man standing there looking like pure sin in a pair of jeans is being worn down to nothing because of  _him._

So when it slips out it really does slip out, because the  _last_  thing he wants to do is cause more damage, but he's furious and exhausted and more than a little drunk and if Enjolras can't get it in his head that this is fucking  _toxic_ , Grantaire will push him until he does.

"Are you actually naive enough to think that you're going to change a damn thing?"

Everyone stops speaking, even Enjolras, who turns to look at Grantaire, his expression unreadable.

"Unless it's willful ignorance and not naivete. Or have you stopped and considered that maybe nobody gives a shit about your precious fucking liberty?"

Enjolras clears his throat and opens his mouth to answer, his brow furrowed, but he hesitates, and he's looking at Grantaire with something almost like a plea in his eyes, a  _what are you doing_  and  _what's gotten into you_  and, most painfully, a very clear  _why are you hurting and how can I stop it?_

Because Enjolras is so far above the rest of them it's obscene and Grantaire sometimes tires of being so fucking flawed and broken.

Marius and Cosette are gone for the weekend, taking a much-needed vacation together, and Grantaire feels her absence bitterly in these moments when he most needs his best friend. Instead, he sets his jaw with an angry smile.

"Or could it be that even the great Enjolras doesn't matter all that fucking much? How many of us would you sacrifice for your big fucking picture? God, you're a  _machine._ "

Enjolras flinches back at that and for a moment he looks so raw, so vulnerable, so  _young_ , that Grantaire has to force himself not to fall to his knees and absolutely  _beg_  forgiveness.

It's cruel. It's far crueler than anything he's ever said to Enjolras, and honestly, crueler than anything Enjolras has said to him. The silence is loud, painfully so, and Grantaire stands up and leaves without another word, not bothering to look back at the only reason he even bothers waking up most mornings. He'd calculated that to hurt, and judging by the stricken look on Enjolras' face, his calculations hadn't been flawed.

He heads to a nearby bar and drinks until he's vomiting in the parking lot, familiar hands coming from nowhere to brush the curls from his sweating brow and hold them back.

The hands are calloused and belong to a musician and Combeferre doesn't say a word, just holds his hair back and pretends he can't see when Grantaire starts to sob.

\------

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

Eponine is seething, working on the bottle of tequila she'd left at Enjolras' place the last time one of them had something going on that they didn't want to handle in an even remotely adult fashion. For his part, Enjolras is simply sitting there at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his empty pack of cigarettes.

After a moment he clears his throat. "Am I that horrible to him that he thinks me a  _machine?_ " he asks quietly, and on the one hand, he knows he's not, knows he loves Grantaire better than he'd ever imagined he could, but on the other he's thinking of all the times he's pushed Grantaire, all the times his thoughtless neglect has led Grantiare to a bottle, all the times he'd criticized when he should have loved.

Being a god is exhausting but loving a god, he imagines, must be a thousand times worse.

"No," Eponine promises, setting the tequila down and standing to walk around to where Enjolras is sitting. She sits in his lap almost gingerly, reaching over to play with his hair. "No, honey, you're not. You're not horrible and you're not a machine and you didn't deserve that." She kisses his forehead before wrapping both arms around him and hugging him as tightly as she can.

"I should be better to him. I forget things and I get so caught up in my work that I don't pay him half the attention he deserves. And I keep pushing at him and pushing at him and god, Eponine, what if he honestly doesn't know?"

He only gets like this with her, his best friend, the girl he grew up with, the girl with whom he shared a bed for years. He's so desperately human that it makes him ache.

"He knows how much he means to you," Eponine promises, and even still, Enjolras can't help but wonder if she's wrong.

\------

"How did you find me?"

"I did this wild thing where I walked into bars and looked for a familiar mess of hair," Combeferre answers dryly, but not unkindly. He's brought Grantaire back to his apartment and is cleaning him up, not commenting that he's already had to put Grantaire's clothes (along with his sheets) in the wash because Grantaire's gotten sick all over them

He looks strange wearing Combeferre's clothes, and for a minute he wants to text Enjolras to say that it smells wrong, there's no scent of blackcurrant hanging around like there always is when he pulls one of Enjolras' shirts over his head, but Combeferre has confiscated his phone.

"What are you even doing?" Grantaire asks after a minute, when Combeferre's finished washing his face. He feels like a child, but Combeferre doesn't seem to mind, and instead just smiles, though the smile is soft and more than a bit sad

"If Cosette was here she'd be doing this for you, but she's not, and I feel like you could probably use someone looking out for you tonight. Do you want to stay here?"

Grantaire just nods, not trusting himself to open his mouth and keep from crying at this unexpected kindness at the same time, and instead he just sighs and shifts over on the bed to make room for Combeferre.

"You're a good friend," he mutters as Combeferre stretches out next to him and simply lays there, not talking, not moving, not pushing. After a few minutes of silence, he speaks, quietly enough not to aggravate Grantaire's headache.

"I texted Enjolras to let him know you're alright. He's worried. He wants to see you. I told him you were asleep and that you'd call him in the morning."

Grantiare shoots him a grateful look before closing his eyes, praying for sleep to overtake him.

It's a sign of just how much God likes screwing him that he can't even fucking get that.

\------

When Enjolras gets Combeferre's text he leaves Eponine (who's fallen asleep on his couch) a note and promptly drives over to Combeferre's. He knocks for maybe two full minutes before the door opens, and Combeferre positions himself so as to physically block any path inside.

Enjolras all but whines, “You’re my best friend!” and Combeferre nods, ever patient.

“I am. And so is Eponine. And Courfeyrac. And Jehan. Do you see the problem here? They will all side with you because you’re their fearless leader and Grantaire is the one right now who’s been sick all night with no one to hold his hair back and get him ginger ale and clean him up except for me, what with Mary Kate in Seattle and Cosette and Marius on their weekend in wherever.”

He wants to protest but Combeferre is right—Combeferre is always right—and instead he sighs. “Will you ask him to call me?”

“No,” Combeferre answers, looking amused. “And I won’t pick up the phone for him, either. I’m putting him to bed again with a bucket on the floor next to him and when he wakes up tomorrow and asks for you, then I’ll come running, but until then, you are hereby exiled from Grantairia.”

“Grantairia?” Enjolras asks dryly, and Combeferre shrugs.

“Just north of Passive Aggressiva and Enjoland.”

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” Enjolras says, and the look Combeferre gives him would be long-suffering on anyone else but is just the way his face is on Combeferre.

“We’re on our sixth episode of Grey’s Anatomy and the similarities I’m noticing between you and McDreamy are getting less flattering with each episode. For what it's worth, Grantaire is like Meredith Grey in all the worst ways, and did you know that there  _is_  something in the world that sends me into a rage so great that I lose control of my emotions? It's Grey's Anatomy, Enjolras. This is so medically inaccurate it's painful."

"So stop watching?" Enjolras suggests, and Combeferre lets out a pained groan.

" _No._  I need to know what happens to Derek and Meredith."

Enjolras laughs, though the laughter doesn't reach his eyes, and he crosses his arms. "Listen, either you can tell him that I'm here, and he can say he doesn't want to see me, or I'm going to stand here until that happens. He doesn't get to  _hide_  from this."

"Enjolras--"

"No."

Combeferre presses his lips together but nods, closing the door behind him; a few minutes later Grantaire comes out, looking exhausted and ashamed, wearing Combeferre's wrinkled clothes.

They stand there without speaking for a moment, and then Enjolras reaches forward to take his hand. Grantaire winces and Enjolras looks as though he's been struck across the face; he chews the inside of his cheek so hard that he draws blood, and the coppery tang running smooth along his tongue makes him feel sick.

"Can I bring you home?" he asks quietly, his voice unsure, and Grantaire doesn't answer. "R,  _please_ , let me take you home. We need to talk."

"Haven't we done enough talking?" Grantaire's voice is a high-pitched whine and he looks terrified.

Enjolras runs his thumb across Grantaire's wrist, back and forth and back and forth, fighting the instinct to kiss the sadness away from his mouth (he's not sure if he's pleased or scared that his first instinct these days is to kiss Grantaire).

But he stays silent, and after another moment Grantaire nods, tightening his hand around Enjolras' and following him out of the apartment building and to his car.

The drive home is tense, almost painfully so; Grantaire sends a text thanking Combeferre if only so he has something to think about other than Enjolras. Home, apparently, is Enjolras' apartment, where Eponine is still asleep on the couch, where Enjolras deliberates outside of his bedroom before heading in, closing the door behind him.

"You look exhausted," Enjolras says, and he does; it's almost six in the morning and none of them have slept.

"I'm fine," Grantaire mumbles, and Enjolras suddenly looks very small, before reaching over to unbutton the shirt he's wearing. Grantaire frowns, but makes no move to stop him, and once the shirt and the tee shirt underneath have been shed Enjolras takes his wrist in one hand, sliding the other up to curl around his elbow.

He leans forward to press his lips to the gargoyle tattooed along his forearm and Grantaire shivers, still looking unsure. Enjolras rests his forehead on his arm, breathing heavily as if afraid, and something starts to ache along Grantaire's ribs because  _Enjolras doesn't get afraid._

Except he's moving so tentatively as he releases Grantaire's arm to curl one hand around his side, the other around his hip, to turn him so that Enjolras can trail his lips lightly across the words tattooed on his ribs. After this Enjolras stands up straight again, tucking his face into the curve of Grantaire's neck and letting out a long, almost shuddering breath.

"Please don't leave," he mumbles, and Grantaire inhales sharply. "Please don't. You don't get to do that, you don't get to just walk into my life and change it, change me, and then walk out of it. I think about doing all of this with you gone and it's just a big blank, and I know you think I'm full of shit but I get a say in this too and I don't want you to leave."

"Jesus Christ, I'm not going anywhere," Grantaire promises all in a rush of breath, and he curves one hand around the back of Enjolras' skull. "You should, though, and you know that, don't you? You have to know it."

"Was that what this was about?" Enjolras asks, lifting his head to press a kiss to the corner of Grantaire's mouth. He pushes his words past lips clamped shut. " _No,_  I don't want that, I don't want you gone and I don't want to go anywhere. I'm right where I want to be."

"Caring about me is  _hard_ , Apollo. I'm really fucked up. Do yourself a favor."

"Do you think I'm here because I'm under the impression that loving you is even remotely easy?" Enjolras sounds affronted now, and he scowls, drawing back. "It's  _not._  You are impossible, Grantaire, and my  _god_ , we fight so much sometimes I haven't any idea how you manage to not hit me in the face, but I'm fucking here anyway."

"Apollo--"

"No! No, you don't get to tell me what's good for me. I knew what I was getting into and I got into it anyway, remember? I don't think this is going to be easy. I think it's going to hurt, and it's going to be exhausting, and I think that sometimes we're going to wonder very seriously if it's worth it and I want it anyway because it  _is_." Here, he kisses Grantaire, insistent and infuriated, his tongue sweeping past his lips to mark the grooves on the roof of his mouth and the the crookedness of his teeth. "Is this what you wanted? For me to say this? Because if that's what you want, just tell me, and I'll say it as many times as you need me to. Forgive me for not saying it before, but I'm saying it now. I want this even when it's not easy."

Grantaire stares at him, speechless and shocked and honestly fairly terrified.

"I'm sorry," he manages finally, and Enjolras lets out a broken sound before surging forward to kiss him again.

"You are so fucked up," Enjolras agrees quietly, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy, and Grantaire nods. "But I knew that and I still want this. You. Every part of you. Even the parts you don't want yourself. Okay?"

Grantaire seeks his mouth out again hungrily and they fall into each other with the lazy and practiced grace of a thousand lifetimes of wanting. It's only when they lie together, spent, limbs tangled and Enjolras tracing tired patterns into the side of Grantaire's neck with lips and tongue, that Grantaire realizes what Enjolas said. Loving him isn't easy.

_Loving_  him isn't easy.

It's not an 'I love you,' not yet, but it's close, and Grantaire draws him back for a hundred more kisses, one sliding seamlessly into the next, lips tasting of sweat and need, wondering if he can somehow translate that loving him isn't easy either, even if it's as natural as breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> HI.
> 
> This was based v. loosely on three anonymous prompts  
> -"Would love some e/R tattoo porn! Where Enjolras just kisses at each one of R's and guuuuh"  
> -"If you're still accepting prompts, E/R hurt/comfort. Grantaire comes home and finds Enjolras upset/crying and R provides the necessary hugs and kisses to make him feel better. That sounds mean I know but I'm just a sucker for these types of fics."  
> -"Could you give us some R/Combeferre cuddles or interactions within your verse? I feel like Combeferre is healthy for R and they'd be super awesome buddies :D"
> 
> and wow this was fun to write c: It’s not quite tattoo porn and not quite hurt/comfort and not quite R/Combeferre cuddles but it’s something like all three? Takes place probably a month or two after Functioning Relationships.
> 
> (Passive Aggressiva is a beautiful land founded by Dr. Derek Sheppard and Dr. Addison Montgomery in s2 of Grey's Anatomy, which really is that addictive.)
> 
> (endless love and thanks to Elizabeth [RyssaBeth], Kaitlyn [villainyandgoodcheekbones], Lily [astrid_fischer], Emily [jehans], and Lindsey [ohyellowbird], as always <3 y’all are the only reasons anything gets done pretty much ever so)
> 
> the next TRTMB chapter will be a bit delayed because of school stuff but I'll work on moving more drabbles over here. <3 Feel free to come bug me on Tumblr (duskjolras) to make sure I'm actually working on it and not just burying myself in academic journals D: 
> 
> thank you for being wonderful, love you to bits and pieces, facekisses for everyone (if facekisses are your thing, of course).


End file.
